Peina
by The Smashlee
Summary: Two years after committing himself to therapy Sasuke is ready to move forward, but faces a struggle to make peace with his past and present. Orexis sequel. Three-shot. Eating disorders. NaruSasu. Finished.
1. Take a Breath

"_An eating disorder is not usually a phase, and it is not necessarily indicative of madness. It is quite maddening, granted, not only for the loved ones of the eating disordered person, but also for the person themselves. It is, at the most basic level, a bundle of contradictions: a desire for power that strips you of all power. A gesture of strength that divests you of strength. A wish to prove that you need nothing, that you have no human hungers, which turns on itself and becomes a searing need for the hunger itself. It is an attempt to find an identity, but ultimately it strips you of any sense of yourself, save the sorry identity of 'sick'. It is a grotesque mockery of cultural standards of beauty that ends up mocking no one more than you. It is the thing you believe is keeping you safe, alive, contained - and in the end, of course, you find it is doing quite the opposite. These contradictions begin to split a person in two. Body and mind fall apart from each other, and it is in this fissure that an eating disorder may flourish, in the silence that surrounds this confusion that an eating disorder may fester and thrive." _

- Wasted

* * *

It has been two years and one month since I first stepped, with sweaty palms and shaky hands, into Tsunade's office, ready to have my mind analyzed and my so-called reasoning torn to shreds. It has been two years and nine months since I was first hospitalized unwillingly, equally frightened, however substantially less ready. It has been, according to my vague estimations, just over four years since family and friends started noticing that I wasn't the picture of health I'd always been.

I have been in therapy, recovery, for two years and nine months, since my first hospitalization – the treatment both voluntary and involuntary. Help was not on the agenda of the willing (and I wasn't), but I figure that I've always known that I've needed it, even if I didn't want it. Even from the beginning, I don't believe I was ever delusional enough to think that throwing up my every meal was a healthy alternative. However, I did believe that any ill-health caused by my detrimental actions could not ever be as bad as being _fat_. Enter my resistance to the alleged help.

In remembering this, I can only assume that I've made some sort of progress if I'm still alive and standing here at nineteen years old, moving on to the next stage of my life. When I try to recount my experiences I would love to be able to say that I remember everything I've put everyone else and myself through, gloss over the facts as if it were something simple. Though it would be a gross injustice of the last two years if I were to lie and say it's been a smooth road or an easy journey.

In fact, I've found that keeping a positive and determined attitude towards recovery has been nothing short of impossible. I've slipped in and out of relapse and remission more times than I can remember. Sometimes I've felt on top of the world, that I'm a whole enough person and that I don't need my eating disorder.

At other times I felt like it's the only honest part of me that I couldn't bear to part with.

On my best days I remembered that I want to live, why I want to live, the kind of person I want to be. But on my weak days, I've momentarily lose the fight - and my inspiration and philosophy caves in hard and heavy. Sasuke is "sick" again, exercising, purging and questioning how on earth I thought therapy was a good idea. In those sometimes I'm not afraid of dying, it's those sometimes when I think I'm maybe okay with dying - and I think that I should hold onto my eating disorder with an iron grip because it's the only part of me with any worth. I often think that if I were to let go of it, be "healthy", I would be unequivocally and ineffablyempty. After all, the eating disorder has encroached upon every aspect of my personality and life that I ever had to begin with - there could only be nothingness left if it were to disappear.

It was this sort of downward thinking that would always lead me to the same question - Is a healthy life of emptiness _really _more appealing than living "sick"?

It was in that vein, my struggle was switching between the want to recover, and the want to remain with an eating disorder – in a twisted sense, it was the easy and safe choice. It took me a long, long time to realize, for it to suddenly _click_, that a life living (_dying_) sick was the life of nothingness I'd feared after all.

For over four years I was nothing more than fluctuating kilograms on the scale, three hundred daily sit-ups and an unwilling patient. I should have died when my mind gave up and my heart stopped at my lowest weight. But I didn't. I have been on deaths door more times than what I can count and yet my body has persevered free of my minds will. When my body had eaten up all its resources and left me unable to move in a hospital bed connected to IV's and heart monitors it had persisted – despite the future of nothingness my mind promised.

And so, I cannot even begin to fully express how utterly strange and bizarre it is to still be standing here, breathing, to this day. I don't believe in higher powers handing out second chances, I figure the responsibility was entirely my own. No god-sent messenger, not even Naruto could give me that. It was wholly up to me to give myself the ability to have a second chance, to redefine what living and what nothingness is.

I think to be living, coping and functioning like a normal human being is a standard of life that we all expect to have, naturally. But personally losing this standard and then attaining it once you've lost it is like coming out from a long time underground - and it just clicks - you know when you've got it back. Time goes faster again; you begin to remember details, faces, names, ideas, dreams. Your memory is no longer a colorless blur of goal weights and self disgust, but a vivid compilation of times and feelings, good and bad.

You slowly remember that people aren't the monsters you once believed them to be. Things beyond calories and meeting exercise requirements become important to you again and you remember that you have real interests and hobbies beyond the deterioration of your own body and soul. You remember it is okay to explore and indulge in all these things without feeling guilty.

Then, suddenly, you realize that you're living again.

For this seemingly slim possibility to be achieved I have spent the last two years and one month, one hundred and eight weeks, seven hundred and forty three days in therapy.

Two years and one month after stepping, terrified, into Tsunade's office I am facing my last query - I am alive, but am I living?


	2. Take a Leap

"Is that the last box?"

"Yeah…"

"Christ, Sasuke, I didn't know you had so much shit."

Standing back and looking at the mini fortress of boxes and furniture I couldn't help but admire our colossal effort. "Me neither," I muttered.

A fine effort indeed, I thought, gazing with my mouth slightly agape at the small mountain of my personal possessions that had accumulated in the corner of my bedroom. Kiba thumped me on the back staring in equal wonder at my pile of cardboard boxes. "You sure this will all fit into the apartment?" he asked distractedly, gazing in disbelief.

"No…"

"Awesome," he replied, absentmindedly, moving towards the pile and lifting up a heavy box labelled "_books_" with a grunt. "I'll round up the others."

Groaning his way down the stairs he left me alone in my now near barren bedroom with nothing but my plain four walls staring back at me.

I was moving out of home.

Although this had been planned for a long time with the utmost organisation, it had never really hit me until my bedroom became empty for the first time in nineteen years. The "others" that he had been referring to was the personal army that Naruto and I had hired to assist in the shift to our new home. The army, consisting of any of our friends that possessed at least half a muscle, was Naruto's answer to budgeting. _It will cut costs_, he said. _We won't have to waste money on removalists_, he said. Cheapskate. Despite my part time and Naruto's full time job the blond had deemed ourselves and our friends as being _cheap to run_ on account of obligations that the friend status brings.

About to begin my second year of university, we'd decided that the two and a half hour commute from my home to the university and back was no longer tolerable. Enter in Naruto's idea of moving in together into a closer dwelling, sharing the rent and bills and _what about freedom, Sasuke_? Blah blah blah.

I'd refused at first, at the time I hadn't been working and it wasn't feasible to rely on Naruto's wage alone. I'd craved independence of course, like any person my age, but there was still a lingering reluctance to make the commitment to leave. I'd though perhaps it was the tremendous sense of guilt I'd feel for leaving Itachi alone in that big old house, and maybe that's part of it. But maybe that was just an excuse and I'd just been too cowardly to take a leap. I snapped myself out of it eventually, but not before feeling sorry for myself.

I'd lived in this house for my entire life. The idea of leaving behind the home that held all of my childhood memories, the home that had been the foundation of my family, was both refreshing and terrifying. While I felt a relieving sense of freedom that could only be born through the first taste of independence, the feeling was coupled with a fear of leaving the proverbial nest. Most of my best and worst memories were –

Perhaps luckily before I could wrap myself too tightly in my thoughts, my internal dialogue was abruptly broken by the sound of a chorus of footsteps trudging up to my open doorway.

"The cavalry is here!" Kiba shouted, marching in as the leader of the single file six man friend army. Five friends followed into my bedroom while one boyfriend rested one elbow on one shoulder, staring at my fortress of stuff. I pushed him off but like nothing had happened his elbow again found home on my shoulder.

"Wow, babe," he said heartily, "I think this is the first time I've actually seen your bedroom _clean_." He laughed at his (poor) humour and basked in the (few) snorts he earned.

"Ha-ha," I replied dryly. "Move your ass. We've got…" I paused to look at my watch, "…two hours to get this shit outta here and into the new place." It was only 10 AM but our day was considerably shortened by having our moving out day coincide with the bi-weekly Saturday in which Naruto pulls an afternoon shift at the gym.

Really, how very convenient.

Since we had left high school Naruto had become qualified as a gym instructor slash personal trainer slash fitness guru slash whatever. The idea of it all conjured a storm cloud above my head. It wasn't that I had any particular problem with his choice of career or his rate of income, which was all well and decent. No, it wasn't that. It was that, as a qualified fitness expert, Naruto had consumed an incredible amount of knowledge of food, nutrition and exercise and he would never, _ever_, let me forget it. It made his gung-ho attitude towards my recovery that much more…educated. By educated I mean irritating, irksome and infuriating.

Smug idiot.

And so the epic task of shifting began. At first, very slowly, the room in which I had slept for almost twenty years was dismantled piece by piece, box by box. Carrying it out gave me a strange sort of feeling in the pit of my gut, I ignored it though, knowing it to be the raw apprehension I'd been feeling for days. Before I knew it, my bed had been lugged out, my computer desk dismantled and shoved into someone's trunk and forty five minutes later all the remaining furniture had been heaved out and the last box had gone - and the room was dead empty. The boys had gone to wait in their respective cars while I sought out my absent brother to say goodbye. Well, not _goodbye_, that sounds permanent…

I left my empty room without a second glance, telling myself not to think so much of it. It's only a room, it won't disappear. Stupid, rooms don't mean anything.

Into the hallway and down the stairs, I searched for my older brother but, to my luck, didn't need to look for very long. The elder Uchiha was found leaning back on the kitchen table, staring at me and drinking straight out of the milk carton like a declaration of independence. I smirked.

"Enjoying your freedom already?"

"You bet," he replied, swallowing down a mouthful and wiping his mouth.

I can't remember what I came down here to say.

I had had this scenario entirely pre-planned in my head before. I would say _goodbye_, Itachi would say _I'll see you later_,_ little brother_, we would exchange an awkward brotherly gesture of some sort and I would be on my merry way out the door and into my new apartment. Somehow, though, a simple goodbye seemed a little cheap (given everything we had gone through together in our short lifetime).

I stared at him, unsure of what to say, my words tying themselves into knots in my throat, too tangled to be coherent. What was I supposed to say? I'll catch you later? Good luck living alone? Sorry I'm moving on but thank you for giving up your life to raise me? Guilt swam treacherously into my chest before I could squash it.

Stop it, stupid brain.

I knew Itachi would be fine. He was a grown man after all; he was perfectly capable of caring for himself. He wouldn't be lonely because I wasn't going to disappear and he has his friends and weird co-workers and whoever that blonde person is that seems to be over a lot lately…He was an independent man who could cook and clean for himself without me - and at the end of the day, it probably was time that he had his own freedom too. I felt better in knowing that this would be good for him too.

But in the end I didn't need to say anything. My brother clapped me firmly on the shoulder like our father used to and smiled. "You'll be fine, Sasuke," he said. I frowned. _Me?_

"Are you -? "

"I'll be fine," he interrupted, mirth in his eyes. "You'll be here on the weekends…"

"…So it's not like we won't see each other," I finished.

"Exactly."

I nodded, his confidence dissolving the better part of my fears.

"I'll walk you out," he offered, taking his hand off my shoulder and grabbing my duffel bag. I nodded again and we walked out of the kitchen, out of the open door, and into the large car pool in front of my childhood home.

Reaching my car I stopped at the driver's side and took my bag from Itachi, thanking him. It suddenly felt a little surreal - that this part of my present life would now just be a part of my memory to be filed into a separate category from my current reality. How many times had I reversed out of this driveway on my way to school? How many times had I walked through that front door and gone upstairs to brood?

"I guess I'll see you later, Sasuke."

I looked at Itachi, finally at a level height and hummed my agreement. I almost expected him to revert to mother hen mode and remind me to eat, sleep and bathe, but he was just being the brother he had little chance to be.

"Yeah, I said finally. "I'll see you later."

* * *

The strength and stamina required to be a professional removalist, I soon realised, was not to be underestimated.

Another half hour into shifting both Naruto's and my own belongings into our small, one bedroom apartment I slowly became very, very aware of my horrendous lack of muscle mass. Okay, sure, I wasn't the emaciated toothpick I had been a year ago, two years ago (I've seen the pictures), but I couldn't nearly be categorised as _built_ either.

After years of destroying my muscles by leading them into degeneration and atrophy, one could hardly be surprised at my notable lack of strength. Before, I had known that muscle weighed more than fat, so the idea of drinking bleach suddenly became more preferable to gaining anything bearing a resemblance to muscle. Muscles were bad. Things are different now, however slow these things need to take (particularly when no one will let you be within one hundred feet of exercise equipment). I used to be athletic before all this. I could do it again.

A large proportion of our combined furniture had been carted in, save for the larger, heavier items which required additional manpower. Gaara and I were currently carrying either end of the second hand coffee table we'd bought with a small degree of difficulty. I hadn't realised it until now, but height difference added a remarkable complexity to maintaining a level balance. The red heads height deficiency aside, we wonkily dragged the wooden table roughly into the centre of our modest lounge room. Wiping the sweat off my brow I figured that straight furniture and interior decorating could wait but a cold glass of water could not.

"Water?" I asked the other, moving to the kitchen and getting out enough cups for everybody.

"Yeah, thanks."

Due to our notable lack of a fridge lukewarm tap water would have to be the go. After passing Gaara his beverage in a sophisticated plastic, disposable cup I set about filling drinks for the others.

"Nice place," the other commented, looking around the room. I shrugged, inspecting the adjoining lounge room. Aside from the carpet being an unfortunate shade of grey and the walls needing a paint job the place wasn't too shabby. Not for the pitiful price we were paying anyway. A moment of comfortable silence ensued, Naruto's fat orange cat sauntering over the tiles to sit itself on my feet.

"It's a big step," he said suddenly. I looked up, kicking the fur ball off me none too gently.

"What is?"

"You know," he said, taking a mouthful, swallowing. "Moving in together."

I shrugged again, although wholeheartedly agreeing. "I guess."

"It's kind of cool though," he added, gulping the last of his water and crushing his cup. "I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later."

The fat orange feline had again found residency on my tired feet despite being kicked off twice and I glared at it for its persistence. "Yeah," I agreed. "Now we just need to learn how to stand being around each other."

Gaara hummed agreement at my half-joke. While Naruto and I could be around the other with minimal damage to body and mind, living with each other was a whole other game. Completely new and foreign territory in every sense and I wasn't going to pretend like it wasn't going to be a real challenge for both of us.

"Try not to kill him, will you?"

Any words I was about to say were abruptly stolen and upstaged by a loud, resounding _CRASH _from outside.

For the next few moments the only thing that was loud and resounding was the inner chant of _I'm going to kill him, I'm going to kill him._

After rushing outside, I knew. I knew I would strangle the last breath out of my soon to be ex-boyfriend. What had he broken this time? The television? The bookshelf? My mother's glass cabinet? The bed?

A crowd of friend-movers were huddled around whatever fallen slash had been crushed slash demolished, simply staring, useless. I cleared my throat and in an instant the guilty parties turned. My eyes narrowed in on the blonde dunce who had the decency to look slightly remorseful before a charming smile spread over his features.

"Hey babe, he greeted, laughing nervously. "We don't really need a fridge…right?"

* * *

At approximately 11:49 AM Uzumaki Naruto had ran out of the house, late for work, with a _goodbye, I love you_ and a quickly uttered _blame Kiba for the fridge._ Luckily for our canine loving friend, I did not blame Kiba for the fridge incident. I blamed the stingy excuse for a blond for refusing to hand out - and the price of my _I told you so _was a non-functioning fridge with a dent so large that the door was concaved. How that could have possibly occurred, I would never know, my brain cannot translate stupid.

However, I was not to be deterred from this minor setback to the day. After the guys had been fed, watered and had left, I spent the next three and a half hours unpacking boxes, arranging furniture and scrubbing the weird stains out of the bathroom.

I spent most of the three and a half hours vaguely irritated at how utterly housewife-like this was and immediately set about doing the job half-assed, determined to make Naruto pull his weight too.

After three and a half vaguely irritating hours I'd given up for the day, satisfied I'd done something like my fair share. The physical exertion had left me light headed and hungry and my hands began to shake when my blood sugar levels had dropped too low. I made myself a sandwich.

Two years ago I would have treated a broken fridge as a heaven-sent excuse for not eating unsupervised. Now, even still, at the back of my mind it's an appealing option to try and convince myself that this is a way to get out of having to eat something. That this is an opportunity. While that sort of negative thinking still was present in everyday life, it didn't control me – I was in control of it. The difference now is that while that is still a negative temptation, the option of escaping the headache via the 200 calorie sandwich was more attractive. I was miles away.

Lying on our sofa, cushion under my head, I took little comfort in knowing that my mind was nearly one hundred percent. Sure, it was a considerable achievement, given the hard work and infuriating setbacks and maddening relapses. If anyone could recognise how hard and long the road was to get to this point, it was me.

My body, however, would never be the same.

Current physical weakness aside, the physical penalty of the past few years had taken an irreversible toll on my body. Years of purging had left little enamel on my teeth and a permanent scratch to my voice. Years of abuse had left my bones weaker and my muscles lacking. While I could work on overcoming the latter, it was a different matter to have permanent reminders. And while my memory of the last four or five years was hazy at best, having constant little reminders made it difficult to forget the things I would like to.

Switching the television on with the remote, I flicked through the weekend programming, massaging my bad knee with the other. Talk show, sport. Talk show, sport. Boring. The dull lack of variety served only to enhance my exhaustion in a horrible, horrible way. My eyelids, heavy, kept closing and I was moments before dozing off when Naruto's demonic, obese cat jumped onto my stomach, sending my heart racing.

"Get off," I muttered, pushing it off onto the floor and holding a hand to my racing heart. It meowed pitifully before jumping right back onto my stomach, digging its claws into my shirt.

Normally I did not harbour any particular dislike for animals, but down to my bones, to my core I _hated_ this cat.

Naruto had received it as a Christmas gift from his foster father just over a year ago, deceptively it was bundled as a cute, innocent little orange furball. Sure, as a kitten it had been mildly entertaining but in its short lifespan it had absorbed all the loving attention and transformed into a demanding, oversized monster.

Now eating twice as much as his owner did, Cat had been upgraded from cute kitty to morbidly obese wild feline. When it wasn't eating Naruto out of house and home it was ripping up his curtains or meowing at a constant high pitched rate to be fed or sleeping sixteen hours a day. Not only that but it _smelled_ like wet dog. It was noisy, attention-seeking, expensive and worst of all was that it had some sort of bizarre attachment to my person. It seemed to like me as much as I loathed it. Joy.

I carefully extracted its claws from my clothing, shoved it off and rolled onto my side. As I finally drifted off to sleep moments later, the couch dipped at the base.

* * *

I don't know how long I drifted in and out of dreams before someone shook me awake. It took me a few moments to clear some of the haze out of my mind before I realised that Naruto was standing over me with bags of take-out, the smell of grease and oil permeating the small room. He was grinning. I followed his eyes to my stomach where Fatso was sleeping without me having noticed. I grimaced and stood up quickly, sending the monster to the ground with a loud wail.

Naruto snorted, carrying the plastic bags to the kitchen. "You're so mean to him."

"He's _annoying_," I replied, following him and taking a seat on a barstool at the bench. I would get up and serve us drinks but we don't have a _working fridge_ so…

"But he loves you," he laughed, pointing down to my feet. "See?"

Looking down I saw a squashed face poised to lick my feet as if I hadn't just treated it with loathing. "Whatever. What are we eating?"

"_You_ are eating vegetable tempura," he said while fishing said food out of the bag, "_I _am having takoyaki."

"So healthy," I muttered, taking the plastic carton from him.

"It's the food of Kings."

I rolled my eyes and broke apart my wooden chopsticks, digging in. "How was work?"

He shrugged, struggling to swallow his mouthful before answering. "New client."

"Oh?" I asked, not really interested, but asking anyway.

"Yeah," he said, cracking open a can of cola. "A one hundred and thirty kilogram diabetic asthmatic."

I snorted, imaging his predicament in my mind. "Sounds like fun."

He laughed lowly, as if remembering that shaping up someone close to their death bed was the very antithesis of fun. "Fun, excruciating, whatever. You gotta give him credit though - it takes balls."

I nodded, chewing, knowing that he was speaking of the universal feeling of inferiority when going to the gym, "Skinny Girl was there," he added.

Ah, Skinny Girl.

Skinny Girl was the name used to refer to, as the name suggested, a waif thin girl that frequented the gym at which Naruto works. Over the past three months she had become both a gym regular and one of Naruto's personal missions as her weight declined to dangerous levels. Saint Naruto wanted to use the magical power of words to guide her towards recovery. While I give him credit as a motivational speaker, this was just slightly out of his league. Not that he ever listened when I told him this.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. For _four hours_."

I'd never met the girl but according to Naruto, she was undoubtedly sick - as in something Sasuke can relate to "sick". He once suggested that I go down to the gym one day and try and talk to her, chat it up like we were old pals or something. I immediately dismissed the idea of course, branding it as terrible and by far the most stupid thing I'd ever heard. And it was the most stupid thing that I had ever heard.

What was I supposed to say to her? _Hey do you want to talk anorexia over a can of diet soda?_ Besides, I knew better than anybody that words were useless. There is nothing that can be said or done that will help unless help is invited. Maybe he knew that deep down but didn't want to accept that he couldn't save everyone. Or something. Psychology clearly wasn't my strong point.

The blond had stopped eating and had that faraway thinking face painted on his features and I knew he was about to start the moronic self guilt trip that I couldn't be bothered dealing with. "Don't stress about it," I said blandly.

"I'm not," he pouted.

I just raised an eyebrow, chewing on my tempura. "Okay, I am. But…I dunno. There's somethin' about her. She's…"

"She's what?"

"She's… like you."

I should have seen that one coming, really. I frowned anyway, putting down my chopsticks and feeling slightly outraged that I'd just been compared to a mentally ill teenage female I'd never met. "She's not like me."

"Well not you, you," he explained, "But definitely you. She won't stop moving, she weighs herself constantly, blah blah blah…"

I started to get that familiar feeling of unease grow in my gut, knowing that this would escalate very quickly into an argument that I had no defence for. I decided in that momemt that, in fact, I didn't want to touch the subject at all - and why would I? What sane person wants to talk eating disorders over dinner? "I don't want to talk about this."

He snorted. "I know. You never do."

Anger flared hotly in my blood. That's unfair. I frowned again, letting him know I was unimpressed with his overused and over abused tirade. He was being selfish, I decided, and I was sick of being persecuted for things I had little control of. "Why don't we talk about _your_ issues, Naruto," I said brusquely, leaving unsaid words hanging in the air.

He scowled, pissed. "Whatever. Let's not argue okay?"

Easy for him to say.

I dropped the subject anyway, approving that this was hardly the time and let silence reign for a few minutes while we finished our meals. It was awkward.

I wasn't really angry with him and I knew that he wasn't really angry with me but more so angry at each other's stubbornness.

Well, that and I was angry at my issues, for him to bring up my issues and for him to go and ignore his own issues. I had an issue with that. But I could already see that he was feeling bad and I suppose that for now, in the name of first-day-of-new-house-peace, I could let it go and pardon him for his brainless tendencies.

I threw my carton in our make-shift bin (we hadn't bought a real one yet) and helped clear the remainder of the mess. "So…" Naruto began, a cheeky smile creeping onto his face, argument already forgotten, "…we're roomies."

I rolled my eyes and held back a groan. "God... don't remind me."

He pouted, kicking my shin. "Well, try not to sound _too_ excited, Sasuke."

Satisfied that the kitchen was in a state of (semi) cleanliness I made my way back onto the couch, parking myself on it as Naruto fed The Orange Beast some horrible smelling can food. "Gaara seems to think we'll kill each other," I said, keeping my mind off the idea that I'd just eaten an entire meal.

The other man laughed, joining me on the couch, putting a cushion in his lap and gesturing for me to lie down. "That's funny. Neji said the same thing."

"Good to know our friends have faith in us," I muttered sarcastically, lying back on the lap cushion and throwing my legs over the opposite armrest.

"Well, if you want to prove them wrong, Bastard, you might have to forgive me for the fridge."

I looked up and laughed in his face at the very thought of forgiveness. "Fat chance. Besides, I was never going to kill you for it anyway."

"You weren't?" He asked, flicking my nose.

"No. Torture on the other hand…"

He rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at me before clicking his fingers in my ear. "Oh hey, speaking of torture, are you excited about Monday?"

Monday was code and/or lazy speak for my final therapy session with my busty blonde therapist.

It was decided that after nearly 3 years and an otherwise recovered status that I no longer needed therapy. Monday was a big deal but excited isn't quite the word that I would use. Anxious, maybe? I wouldn't tell Naruto that - let him think that I was quietly confident. I initially had my doubts about my so-called readiness, about the possibility of another relapse but I had to agree that it was time to take the proverbial training wheels off and try life again for myself.

Despite my fears I think deep down I believed that I was strong enough to not need this anymore. Even if that particular area was lacking, I had a support system that wouldn't let me fail.

I wondered what Itachi was doing now.

"I suppose," I yawned.

"Boring, Sasuke, that's boring. I'm bored," he repeated childishly, tugging on my bangs before I slapped his hand away. I ignored him.

"I don't care."

He poked his tongue out again and I had to take a moment to believe that a pillar of my 'support system' was so juvenile. He was unusually quiet after that, which meant that he was thinking, which was also unusual. I could practically see the little men in his brain struggling to turn the rusty cogs. Not long after his eyes lit up like a light did he start stroking a finger down my jaw line. It wasn't sexy. I was tired, full and he smelled. Like Cat and sweat.

"Wanna christen the place?"

I mentally added perverted to the list while snatching the offending finger from my face and rapidly squashed an old fear that flashed inside momentarily. "The bed hasn't been set up."

He looked confused. "Who cares?"

I smacked him over the head and he laughed, looking around the room, outside the adjacent window. "Seriously though, this is awesome. I'm glad we did this."

I followed his example and roved my eyes around the room, spying the night time view of the inner city of Konoha from the large glass panes. I nodded once, agreeing.

Despite my earlier reservations, being decisive had paid off even though this is pro-active and this is liberating and this is absolutely frightening. Moving out, leaving home, saying goodbye to central figures. Life from now would more tumultuous than ever - I was not in control of everything and I couldn't help but get the feeling that maybe this isn't a bad thing.

Monday, Monday, Monday…

* * *

Thank you for reading my lovely readers, sorry it's taken a while! One more chapter to go.


	3. Take a Bow

Hesitations aside, that night we did christen the new place.

Well, tried to.

It had all started with Naruto's maddening insistence that we set up our (my) bed. Very grudgingly on my behalf the queen sized bed was erected, neatly made and subsequently messed up as soon as we climbed under the covers -then ruined the peace with arguing on who slept on which side of the bed and who got the good fluffy pillow. I won.

Things were going fine and dandy - Naruto popped in a movie, situated me in between his legs and within a matter of moments the television at the end of our bed was loudly blaring explosions and screams. He'd rented some DVD about gigantic robots having some intergalactic lovers tiff. I wriggled around, trying to get comfortable as the DVD fired up. Comfort escaped me however - I could hear Cat meowing pitifully outside the bedroom door I had so thoughtfully slammed shut. I ignored it, turning the volume up on the television.

"You reek," I sniffed.

Naruto snorted, reaching over to grab some of the popcorn in my lap. "Some of us have been working all day."

I stole the remote from his hand and scoffed. "You stand around while others exercise. That's not work."

"You're right," he said with a mouthful of popcorn, "I forget how hard it must be to be an office lady like you."

It was with incredible (practiced) patience that I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from retaliating. I couldn't possibly count how many times I'd heard feminine jokes due to the fact that I worked in the office of a local optometrist to supplement my degree.

I opened my mouth to retaliate when he cut me off, grabbing my shoulders as wonderment crept into his voice. "Wait, don't say anything, I'm getting a hot mental image here… I'm thinking a blouse and a skirt," he gasped, "Oh my god, Sasuke, put on your glasses..."

My god. I turned the television volume up to near ear-piercing levels. Drown him out, drown him out.

Pornographic ideas or not, we settled into the atmosphere that the dim room offered. Crash, bam, kaboom, millions of dollars worth of special effects and an hour and forty-five minutes into the action it had gotten to the good part – the nail-biting climax and I couldn't tear my eyes away. I was chewing the popcorn we'd microwaved earlier, slowly raising each piece to my mouth and chewing unhurriedly as if eating at a normal pace would disrupt the film. The hero and his busty girlfriend were in dire-straits, their efforts thus far amounting to nought and all seemed to be lost. Crash, bam, kaboom….

The protagonist appeared to be down and out - all the whist going through some internal identity crisis when…Naruto bit my ear. I pressed pause on the remote, halting the story mid-explosion.

"…What are you doing?"

"Seducing you…?"

"Whatever," I snorted, pressing play, my eyes again eagerly drinking in the high definition violence. I got to enjoy a whole thirty-seven seconds more before a warm finger trailed a blaze down my neck. Without looking I bent the offending finger backwards and smirked when the blond groaned in pain.

"You're so mean," he laughed.

"And _you_ fail at seduction," I replied, again pausing the movie to turn around and glare at him properly and noticed that in the dim lighting a sheen of sweat dotted his forehead. I frowned and held the back of my hand to his forehead. "You've got a fever, dumbshit."

"What can I say - you get me hot and bothered," he vampire grinned. I stared.

"Wow - Really? That's the best you could come up wi-?"

The remainder of my words were abruptly swallowed with an equally abrupt kiss to the mouth. I was none-too-gently pushed onto the mattress before my mouth was attacked again, strong hands gripping my hips and a heavy body covering my own. In the glow of the television I laughed into his mouth at his heavy tactics, to insult his masculinity - and he only tried harder, tangling his legs with my own and moving his sinfully hot lips to _that spot_ on my neck.

The movie was forgotten.

* * *

After we had started dating again it was two months before I agreed to have sex.

Even then it had to be in the dark or not at all.

It was another six months before I agreed to have some sort of lighting involved. It was incredibly frustrating, not only for Naruto but for myself. I was a young male with a healthy sexual appetite and still, even then my body couldn't stop shaking from the touches on the areas of me that I hated. Sex was not something I wanted to be anxious about.

Even now, this far on, I sometimes get uncomfortable. The intimacy, the exposure. It's difficult to go from being disgusted with every inch of yourself to being comfortable and open with the most physical intimacy known. It made me feel so ridiculous because it had never been some emotional ordeal before, it was just sex.

The worst part probably was that I had never been some blushing virgin - and getting over my two-month-hesitancy was certainly _not_ the first time we'd had sex. Somehow, however practiced, it was a one way trip down memory lane where my body and the thought of someone seeing it incited hot red panic - a place I didn't want to be back in again after having come so far. However sporadic my moments of dread, the alarm has largely subsided over time and I've grown more at ease with the whole concept, despite my mind telling me something otherwise.

However no wonders are done for fragile confidence when your partner needs to vomit in the middle of sex… on your chest… while inside you.

Yeah.

I grunted, breathing heavy as Naruto moved above me, blond locks plastered to his forehead. We moved together rough and fast, the mattress moving and its springs protesting madly. My whole body was on fire as my back arched up and down, strong arms on either side of me, with agonizing slowness nearing my peak and _oh god…_

"Sahh…" the man above me moaned, wiping the sweat from his eyes as the bottom half of his body continued his fervent pace, in, out, hard, fast, rough.

I closed my eyes just for a moment and gripped the newly laid sheets below me, my fingers curling into the fabric. The heat was in every muscle of my body, it was in my head, stealing my senses and I'd forgotten how to breathe. We moved in sync, Naruto rough and hard and fast and _right there,_ his warm breath on my neck, the smell of sweat in the air. I rubbed my legs wantonly against his burning skin, wanting, needing more friction. As if sensing my growing impatience he buried his face into the crook of my neck, hair brushing against my chin, and bit down roughly on the over-sensitized skin. The wet of his saliva, the sharp teeth, the metal on his tongue, a searing catalyst. More.

I half moaned half gasped and threaded my fingers through his hair, tugging the locks with an equal roughness and scraping his scalp with my finger nails, hoping it hurt. He reacted by thrusting in and out, in and out faster, faster, harder, faster. _Fuck_.

I was on the brink, the heat too much. So close. Almost there, just a little more, yes, there, _yes_….

…and then he started slowing down… Moments passed and he stopped completely- but didn't pull out.

I looked up to see Naruto squeezing his eyes shut, biting his bottom lip. "What _now_?" I panted, moving my hips.

He then promptly vomited his dinner all over my naked torso.

Revulsion rapidly welled up while something else swelled down before I could stop either of them. I pushed him off. "Fuck!"

It was with just slightly decreasing confidence that I dragged my naked vomiting boyfriend to the toilet and a swiftly decreasing arousal that I dragged my naked self into the nearby shower. Woah, what the hell just happened? Thoughts were a tempest in my mind, trying to consolidate whatever just happened. What? Oh god.

Over the next few minutes of washing off bile and undigested food I cursed repeatedly in my head, damning my luck and damning the stupid blond moron. The image of Naruto heaving his half digested dinner onto me kept repeating itself in my mind. I had to suppress my gag reflex - vomit was disgusting – I should know - and yet I had little sympathy for the man who I could hear gagging and retching over the running water. I feel repulsed; I think I might be sick.

After scrubbing scrubbing scrubbing to ensure no possible residual upchuck remained on my torso, I turned off the boiling stream, stepped out, dried myself and cringed at the sounds. On the bright side I was now sure that the hot water system was functioning.

I felt sure that I was clean and safe but unsure of the Naruto situation. On auto I walked into our adjacent bedroom and removed the soiled sheets from the bed, picked out some fresh nightwear, dressed myself and sighed – I was entirely too hesitant to walk back into that bathroom. A groan escaped and I ran a hand over my face, taking a minute to calm myself. What the hell, am I supposed to do something…?

Despite being relatively clueless I sucked it up anyway, marching straight back into the bathroom and throwing Naruto a pair of loose pants. I figure he might have caught them if his head wasn't in a toilet bowl. I crouched beside and raised my hand tentatively, this was awkward.

I felt embarrassment heating up my cheeks - I was completely uncertain on what I was supposed to do to make this situation go away. It was always me that was sick. What was I supposed to do? Rub his back or pat his head?

I decided to first assess the severity of the situation.

"Are you… okay…?"

The sick blond breathed heavily, his face sweating as he turned his head ever so slightly to stare at me. He muttered something along the lines of '_fuck_' before emptying his remaining dinner into the smelly toilet water below.

Well, okay.

Think, Sasuke. This probably wasn't good - I'd never seen the man this sick in my life. Sniffles and snot was one thing, involuntary regurgitation was another. Hmm. It must just food poisoning or a bug I rationalized, feeling better for the logic. People get stomach bugs all the time. I used that excuse all the time too but that's irrelevant. Maybe it was some hideous disease from his new tongue ring (because I knew that place looked dirty). Gross, I kissed him. Shit.

I decided on an awkward pat to his burning hot shoulder, knowing I could relate to his pain but in a totally different and inappropriate context. "I'll get you some water," I muttered, unsure if he heard it. A brisk walk to the kitchen and I filled one of our largest glasses with water. About to walk back into our bedroom I stopped, unsure if this was enough. Maybe he needed aspirin or some dry biscuits. Or a doctor. I don't know. I would ask, I decided.

Back in the bathroom I noticed that Naruto had found the strength to pull on the pants I had thrown at him. He was on the ground and leaning on the wall close to the toilet holding a shaking hand to his mouth and looking a little green. It smelled really bad in here but I didn't say anything, instead handing him his water – and _then_ I opened the bathroom window.

"Oh man…" Naruto groaned from behind his hand. He looked awful. I crouched in front of him again and held a hand to his forehead – it was scorching. My insides turned into lead.

"Christ," I muttered, standing up and offering my hand to him. He looked at it appraisingly with watery eyes, as if he didn't know whether or not it was a good idea to stand up and be away from the toilet. It probably wasn't but he couldn't sit on the cold floor all night. He took my hand eventually and I led his weakened body onto the now bare mattress. I would have to wash the sheets. Yuck.

"I'm really sorry, Sasuke," he whispered pitifully into the pillow as he lay down. I rolled my eyes.

"It's fine, idiot," I assured him even though it actually wasn't fine because I'm pretty sure neither of us had been so humiliated in our entire lives. Well maybe Naruto had but not me. I quickly ducked into the bathroom again, wetting a face towel with cold water, doing anything alleviate the heaviness settling in my stomach. I rested it against his forehead when I returned moments later - My mother used to do this for me so I knew it was helpful. What else did she do when I was sick? Think Sasuke, think.

"It's not fine," he whined softly as he held his stomach. "It's really embarrassing…"

I raised an eyebrow. "Who am I going to tell?" No, really - Who on earth would I tell that I was regurgitated on during sex? He didn't answer either way, preferring to roll over and dry retch.

"…I'll get you a bucket…."

* * *

That wonderful and exciting Saturday night had long passed. Come Monday morning I'd had a whopping total of twenty-six minutes sleep, tipped out approximately twelve buckets of vomit and re-filled countless glasses of water. I felt like an overworked and underpaid nurse in desperate need of a warm bed and shower. Instead I have puke-stained bed sheets and an idiot of a boyfriend who refused to see a doctor. Just awesome.

I'd tried to sneak away to the couch a few times to catch a few z's, get some shut eye, visit dream land and what not but every time I tried he would start vomiting again, or Cat would jump on me or some horrendous part of me would say: _God, you didn't hear him complaining when he had to hold the hair from your face whenever you had a migraine._

Speaking of migraines….

I trudged my weary body into the bedroom, half checking to see if Naruto was dead or not but mostly hoping that he was as good as new and had changed the bed sheets for me. Unfortunately miracle recoveries were not possible in my universe and judging by the lump on the bed, today wouldn't be an exception. Crappy universe.

Subconsciously deciding this was unfair, I threw the packet of dry biscuits I had so thoughtfully fetched from the kitchen somewhere in the direction of the blonds head. I was rewarded with a pitiful moan and a sniffle. I almost felt bad (deep in my subconscious) but then I remembered that I'd had a grand total of twenty-six minutes sleep in the past thirty six hours and had to repeatedly feed his ugly cat - all sympathy for the bed lump was subsequently lost.

I sat on a portion of the bed that wasn't defiled. I'd had this bed for nearly twenty years without a mark – Naruto has it for one night and…. Maybe he should take out his tongue ring, I thought. I told him this. He looked at me like I was crazy.

"You're just trying to get out of going to work aren't you?" I yawned. The other turned on his side, squeezing his eyes, assaulted with nausea.

"Yes," he croaked, sarcasm dripping off his hoarse voice, "this is all an elaborate hoax."

"I knew it."

"Either that or I'm preggers."

Cough.

"…_Yes_, that's far more likely…"

"Thought so."

I stole one of his dry biscuits and chewed slowly. "So, mother of my child, feeling any better yet?

"Fucking peachy," he muttered. I frowned, pressing my palm to his pale forehead for the hundredth time. He didn't even say anything about my female jibe - he really was sick. "What's the time?" He asked suddenly, scratching the stubble on his chin, my eyes narrowed. He needed a shave and quickly - god forbid he try growing facial hair again. The obsessive compulsive freak in me wanted to whip out the shaving cream and attack the prickles while he couldn't fight me off.

"Nearly nine," I said, looking at my watch, "why?"

He grunted. "Isn't your appointment at ten?"

"Yeah….and?"

Red rimmed baby blues stared at me and a blanket covered foot nudged my hip. "So why haven't you left yet?"

I stared at him incredulously, sort of wondering if excessive vomiting could increase stupidity (and if that was the reason why I was dating him). My mouth hung slightly agape because I couldn't quite find a way to articulate the sheer idiocy.

"You're like, near death and you want _me_ to see a doctor?"

"It's your last session," he insisted. I scoffed loudly, stuffing another biscuit into my mouth as if this would prove that I didn't need to go. Chew, chew swallow. Calm.

"Don't be dumb, dumbass. Who else will empty your disgusting vomit bucket?"

He rolled over and rubbed his eyes. God he looked like shit. "You're such a sweet talker, you know that?" He shuddered again under the blankets. "Seriously, go. I'll manage for like, two hours."

Yeah right. "Fine," I conceded, stealing another biscuit, eating my anxiety (just get it over and done with). "But you're seeing a doctor."

From underneath the blankets I could almost see his frown and the petulant expression taking over his face. "You're being - "

"Shut up, twit," I interrupted, getting up from the bed and pulling my shoes on. "It's been two days now - this is bullshit. The place stinks."

"I don't want to see a doctor," he whined childishly. I threw him back my most withering glare while opening the bedroom window, inhaling deeply -fresh morning air had never smelled so good. It was with relief that I stepped out of the bedroom and picked up the cordless phone resting on the kitchen bench, pressing in the number of my GP. Approximately one minute and forty seconds the later the appointment had been made - Sasuke one, Naruto zero.

"Two-thirty," I told the blonde, leaning against the bedroom doorframe and crossing my arms over my chest, trying to ignore the feeling that I was looking after a child rather than a full grown man. "Whatever ridiculous phobia you have, get over it now."

He groaned. "Dick."

"Dumbfuck."

"Asshole."

"Moron."

"Sweetcheeks."

"Pumpkin."

He threw the blankets over his face and groaned at the awful pet-names which were probably more insulting than any cuss words. "Ew, yuck."

Shoving my wallet in my back jean pocket I felt around the front for my car keys and mobile phone. Check, check. "I'm leaving. Do I need to pick up anything?" I was thinking something along the lines of paracetamol and cleaning products, like disinfectant, but he mumbled something into his pillow sounding suspiciously like 'houseplant'.

"A houseplant…?"

"A _transplant_!"

"Oh…right," I coughed, "…good luck with that. Try to not die or something in the meantime."

"What, no goodbye kiss?"

I shuddered and left quickly, anxiety prickling burning holes in my stomach.

* * *

"You look dead," were the first words to be heard from my charming therapist.

"So do you," I replied, to the ageing woman, sitting down, trying to mentally kill the butterflies destroying my stomach.

"Ha _ha_," she muttered. "How are we today?"

"Yeah, fine." I felt like I was going to throw up.

"Tired…?"

"Tired."

She took a large chug from her water bottle before looking at me seriously. "So, we're finally here…"

"Mhmm…"

"How are you feeling about it?"

I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding through gritted teeth and shrugged. "Don't know."

"You've come a long way, you know," she coaxed, shifting in her chair. "Is it hard to identify yourself with the person you were when we started?"

I shrugged again, trying to mentally disconnect from the question, from the reality that I was even here. Though how could I forget, when I was still staring at that same outdated Depression Awareness poster from what, four years ago? I didn't feel like digging around my hazy memories to go back to a place I never wanted to think of again. It was like wading through thick mud in the dark. Vision so pitch black that I was completely blind-sighted, holding my arms out, keeping everything at length, taking every small safe step. Even in my reluctance to think back on the last few years the answer to her question was unequivocally clear, to have such a sharp contrast between my thoughts and feelings and before and now. "I guess."

"Do you think that's a good thing?" she asked, tone neutral. For once she didn't have her notebook and there were no sounds of furious scribbling in the room. Was there a right or wrong answer?

I thought about this for a moment then nodded resolutely. "Yes."

"Why 'yes'?"

"I think…there needs to be a sense of separation."

"Why?"

"Because then you wouldn't know you've made progress."

"So, you feel that you've made progress?"

"Yes."

"Alright - and are you happy with that progress, Sasuke?"

"Yes."

"Tell me why."

I know that there has been progress. I know I've come too far to give up, give in and give away everything I'd fought for - all the relationships I'd damaged and repaired and the self esteem I'd gained. It wasn't much, but the inch of respect I'd struggled to gain for myself meant more to me than my miles of self hate ever could. I couldn't beat myself for the thoughts I couldn't control. I couldn't control my insecurities, the innate part of me that is hypersensitive to every thought and feeling and experience. I could control my behavior and I was in control of my behavior.

Probably most importantly I don't hate myself anymore. When I used to eat back then I felt that I was only nurturing a repulsive, worthless creature. These days I don't feel like a monster when I eat – and to me that is everything. I explained this in more or less words.

"Okay…fair enough. So you're confident to go it alone."

I nodded, almost feeling like she was asking me if I wanted to take the training wheels off my tricycle.

"Good. I'm dying to know Sasuke, how did the big move go? Are you all settled in the new place yet?"

"…." I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. Moving. New place. Christening. Humiliation. _God_. "You could say that…"

"Uh-oh," she laughed. "Trouble in paradise?"

Yes. If by trouble you mean copious amounts of puke and enough trauma to never want to have sex again.

"It's fine."

"…You're fighting _already_?"

"_No_," I said hoarsely, silently damning my damaged voice, "…He's been sick."

"Like I-need-to-get-out-of-work sick or can't-get-out-of-bed-sick?"

"The second one."

She frowned. "Has he seen a doctor?"

"This afternoon."

"I hope he's okay. Hopefully it's just something going around."

I nodded.

"Are you worried?"

Pfft. "No."

"Uh-huh. Well I hope he gets better soon."

I nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly. Being an in-home-nurse rather sucked. Speaking of which, I probably should call Itachi and see how much excitement he's been having with an empty house. And if I can borrow the washing machine…

"Schools going well?"

I yawned. "Yeah."

"…and work?"

"It's fine."

"Descriptive as usual," she muttered. "Any plans for the weekend?"

"Mmm," I hummed, thinking on the three words that had brought dread this past week. "Sakura's engagement party."

"Oh that's right," she laughed, remembering the news. "Not looking forward to it?"

"…Eh."

"Try to have a good time, wont you? Even if you have to drag Naruto's vomiting self to keep you company."

"I think he'll be dragging me."

"Oh don't be like that," she chided.

I just shrugged, silent.

"…You're worried."

"No, I'm really not."

"Yeah, you really are. It's okay, go home."

I looked at the clock, noting that we were only twenty minutes into our final session.

"Sure?"

"Yeah. I can't have you pouting like that for the next half hour."

"I wasn't."

"You were," she said. "Your bottom lip was doing this thing," she exaggerated, extending her bottom lip and pouting.

"Whatever," I stood. She followed my movements, standing and extending a hand which I took and shook.

"You really have come a long way, you know."

"I know."

"And I know you know that I'll wring your skinny neck if I ever see you in here again."

"Yes."

"So take care of yourself, use condoms and be happy."

"…Okay."

We shook hands once more and I walked out the door for the final time, a smile breaking across my face.

* * *

Standing on my tip-toes I felt around the upper frame of our front door, searching for our shared key. Neither of us had bothered to get a copy cut as of yet and so shared the one given by our landlord.

Twisting the key in and shoving the door open I scrunched up my nose immediately, the tang of bile lining the air as pungent as smoke in a house fire.

I removed my shoes at the entrance, kicking them off and not really caring where they landed, hastily moving to open the windows. Once satisfied that there was a source of air I poured myself and Naruto a glass of water from the sink, glancing at the wall-clock we'd picked up from a garage sale. A few minutes into eleven I noted, taking the two cold glasses into the dark bedroom that still had the curtains drawn.

Blond Lump had managed to kick all the sheets and covers off and was lying spread-eagled on the bed, despite the window being open on an exceptionally chilly day. Hmm. Hello alarm bells.

I moved and set both glasses at the bedside table and took a seat at the edge of the mattress, waking the other out of whatever stupor he was in. I noticed the bucket half full with vomit. I chose to ignore it and the bitter smell it was emitting at that moment.

"Back already, Nurse?" He asked, rubbing his eyes.

"We finished early," I replied, feeling his forehead again ignoring the nurse comment with saintly patience. Too warm. I shuddered slightly, feeling how much the cold had set into the room from the open window; I could feel the icy breeze from here. "Feeling better?"

He sighed shakily and held a hand to his pink forehead. "No and no. I feel like shit run over twice."

"You _look_ like shit run over twice," I offered.

"Oh piss off."

I mocked surprise, holding a hand to my heart. "What's this? No 'You _are_ shit run over twice, Sasuke'or some equally crappy comeback?"

"…can't be bothered."

I scoffed, pickied up the doona from the floor and cocooned myself in it. "You must be sick."

He took his glass of water from the bedside table, taking large mouthfuls. He groaned pitifully and moved the hand from his forehead to his eyes. "I don't feel so good."

Something heavy dropped from bottom of my stomach to my toes. "…I know."

I got off the bed and stalked in the direction of the adjacent bathroom, my heart suddenly beating funny. I knew we had a thermometer somewhere. I could have sworn I stole the one Itachi and I had from the old house and chucked it in a box somewhere. I mean, he wouldn't need it, his immune system was made of steel.

I turned to the box labeled _bathroom shit_ that was currently sitting unpacked in our bathtub and began rifling through it with more saintly patience. Shampoo, shampoo, conditioner, soap, shampoo, razors, shaving cream, first aid kit, aftershave, nail clippers, shampoo, oh there it is. Right in the bottom corner, buried under everything as luck would have it. Does it actually work? Press button, beep, yes, good, onwards.

Back in the bedroom, Naruto had thrown an arm over his eyes, the rise and fall of his chest indicating shallow breathing.

"I don't feel so good," he repeated.

"I know," I said for a second time, shoving the thermometer in his mouth before he could speak again. I waited edgily for the ten or so seconds it took to register a temperature, the gymnasts in my stomach showing great athleticism.

_Beep beep_

I quickly extracted the device from his lips, ignoring the string of saliva and held it to my eyes.

Fuck.

"You're not going to the doctor," I said.

"I'm not?" Naruto asked hopefully, lifting his arm up enough to peek red-rimmed eyes.

"No," I said, showing him the thermometer, "You're going to the hospital."

* * *

"No known allergies," I confirmed, impatiently running off Naruto's details for the hundredth time since arriving at the emergency area of Konoha Hospital.

"Okay, Mr. Uchiha, that's fine. Take a seat."

I refrained from rolling my eyes at the over-worked nurse, nodding politely and taking a seat next to Naruto who currently had his head in between his knees while clutching a courtesy hospital 'vomit bag'. My sitting down on the uncomfortable hospital chairs was apparently some sort of signal to Naruto to take up three more seats with his legs and lay his head on my lap.

"I feel like death," the other muttered into the plastic tunnel, suppressing his gag reflex. For the love of god don't vomit on me again.

"You _look_ like death."

He hummed something like a half laugh half whimper into his bag. "Sweet-talker."

We were lucky. The emergency area wasn't half as busy as it should be on a Monday lunchtime hour. There were a few worried mothers with things stuck up their annoying kids' noses, three men who had been in a fist fight and a young woman with severe tonsillitis. I think we were in with a chance of being seen sooner – well, sooner than the thug with the blood nose anyway.

Breathe. I didn't like being here. It was too bizarre. Behind me was the counter where Itachi had checked me in and out countless times. I was in the same waiting room I had sat in while Itachi filled in the same paperwork every time. Only meters in front of me were the large double doors I had used to escape from the hospital while still in my hospital gown. The same doctors and nurses and staff were walking around as they did two, three years ago. While I felt entirely different nothing here had changed. It was too weird.

My insides squirmed like caught fish and tension dug its fingernails into my neck. I drummed my fingers irritably against Naruto's head. Negativity was another big fish, swimming in my veins and seeping out of every pore. My head was like a toxic pot of emotions that was simmering sickly, begging for something to be done about it. Self scrutinize. Starve. Purge. Attack. Do something.

I took a deep breath in and counted to ten, exhaled, trying to focus on something other than the lethal mix in my head.

"Why don't you go home, go to bed?" Naruto asked suddenly.

I scowled. "Why don't you shut up?"

"What?"

"You're so annoying," I sulked, frowning - God I was tired. "Why would I bother driving just to dump you here? I could have got an ambulance to do that."

"But-"

"Shut _up_," I interrupted. "You're disturbing the others."

Naruto raised his head slightly to see one of kids stop picking their nose to stare at him. "Cranky bitch." he muttered lowly.

We were quiet for a moment; the only sounds were that of a bustling hospital behind us - moans, cries and high heels clicking on the linoleum. It smelled like antiseptic. I hated it.

I yawned, trying hard to keep my heavy eyelids open.

"This is a little weird," Naruto said abruptly, starting to fidget with his feet and fingers. I frowned and looked down at the fidgeting monster in my lap.

"What is?"

"_You_ taking _me_ to the hospital."

"Why would that be weird?" I glared, hoping to scare him out of saying the stupid answer I knew would come out of his mouth.

"'Cause it's usually the other way around…" he trailed off awkwardly, avoiding eye contact.

"…Right."

"Sorry," he apologized genuinely, increasing the fidgeting. "I'm nervous. Y'know I've hated doctors ever since…"

"I know," I said, increasing the tapping on his head in what he took as a reassuring gesture, trying to change the topic. He half smiled, half grimaced as his stomach cramped up, drawing his legs to his chest.

"Thanks, y'know, for staying with me."

I flushed, embarrassed. "Whatever."

"No, really," he insisted, gripping my hand with his trembling fingers. "You've been so good when I was such a shithead to you when you were sick."

Sick? Oh god, here we go again. Even when you're projectile vomiting you don't shut up.

"…It's not your fault."

"It's not yours either."

I went pink and wished he wasn't looking at me. "Idiot…"

"Bastard."

Silence reigned in our corner of the waiting room for the next ten or so minutes, contentedly watching the awful daytime talk show on the TV before Naruto suddenly puked into his plastic bag, narrowly missing my legs. Before I could blink he had leapt off me and run off in the direction of the men's' toilets.

It was two minutes after he disappeared into the signed doors when a petite nurse called out his name.

"Mr. Uzumaki?"

I stood up and made my way over and informed her. "He's in the bathroom."

She turned, startled, and stared. Her eyes widened in recognition. Oh dear.

I cleared my throat and shifted my feet, suddenly very thankful for Naruto's timing when he walked out of the bathroom and sat on a vacant chair next to me. The young nurse followed my line of vision, making a strange noise as she spotted her patient.

"Mr. Uzumaki?" The blond looked up, pale as a ghost but the nurse just kept smiling. "If you could come through here," she said, gesturing to the area of beds behind the large double doors, "and if we could grab some details from you, that would be great."

"Uhh, okay." He stood up and followed her, death-gripping my hand and pulling me along before I could say _I'll wait here._

"Okay, let's see," she began, "Any known allergies?"

* * *

After what seemed to be like a hundred years later, we finally had a diagnosis.

"Mr. Uzumaki, your stool sample has indicated a case of salmonella poisoning."

He looked confused. I could see the cogs turning towards panic in his brain, probably thinking something along the lines of _I've been poisoned?!_

"Food poisoning," I whispered.

"I knew that, Bastard," he whispered back.

The doctor ignored our little exchange and continued. "Right, well, given the severity of your symptoms I'm going to prescribe you a course of antibiotics," he finished, handing Naruto a sheet of paper with his prescription. "Take one three times a day until you've finished them all. Go home, rest, if it gets worse, come back."

"Thank you," the blond answered, taking the paper. The doctor left with a smile and the nurse from earlier came back in with Naruto's clothes and shuffled me some meters away from the bed, drawing the curtains around it so Naruto could have some privacy getting changed. I snorted, I'd seen far less than that.

"Mr. Uchiha?" She asked suddenly. My head snapped towards her so fast it hurt.

"What?"

"Do you remember me?"

Searching my memories omitted no results so I shook my head, confused. She smiled awkwardly and tried again. "Sorry, this is embarrassing. I used to bring in your meals?"

I vaguely remember _throwing _meals at nurses, but that was the extent of it. "…Sorry."

She dismissed my apology, waving her hand and smiling brightly. "Don't worry. It's just… _wow_. You look great, really great."

I went red, suddenly not knowing what to do with the hands hanging uselessly at my sides. "…Thanks…"

"Sorry," she laughed. "You caught me off guard. You really do look amazing, like a whole other person. Are you in recovery now?"

"I'm recovered," I answered, without thinking. Warmth blossomed from its bud in my chest and I let loose a short, relieved breath. "Yeah. I'm recovered."

Her face brightened considerably, her hand held to her heart. "That's fantastic. I'm glad."

"…" So am I.

I really am. I can't articulate how every battle, every fall and rise was worth being here at the moment, living.

"And Mr. Uzumaki…is he your…friend?"

"…Yes… friend. We live together."

"I see. You'll take care of him won't you?"

…What have I have been doing these past two days?

"Right," I replied, never feeling more relieved to see Naruto as he hobbled through the blue curtains towards us. He fidgeted nervously with the hospital band around his wrist and nudged his elbow into my ribs, as if to declare his presence.

The nurse apparently took the hint. "Well, take care of yourselves."

"Thanks."

After she left and was out of earshot Naruto's shoulders slumped and he took my hand, apparently very eager to leave. "Can we get the hell out of here now?"

I gripped his hand tightly, ready. "Yeah. Let's go home."

**The End**

* * *

"_It is not a sudden leap from sick to well. It is a slow, strange meander from sick to mostly well. The misconception that eating disorders are a medical disease in the traditional sense is not helpful here. There is no 'cure'. A pill will not fix it, though it may help. Ditto therapy, ditto food, ditto endless support from family and friends. You fix it yourself. It is the hardest thing that I have ever done, and I found myself stronger for doing it. Much stronger." _

_- Wasted, Marya Hornbacher_


End file.
